


In Times of War

by TheFreakZone



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFreakZone/pseuds/TheFreakZone
Summary: Spain, Civil War. An injured republican soldier seeks refuge in an abandoned house, where he meets an Italian soldier. Despite being enemies, they'll have to help one another; and perhaps they'll find more than they had hoped for... One-shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in Spanish, now I've translated it into English, and thank God I don't speak any other languages, because this has already stolen too many hours of my life (particularly of sleep). Oh well. I should probably warn you that I haven't proof-read it, so there may be a lot of typos and funny sentences. Feel free to notify me and I'll edit them. Eventually.  
> Also, if you speak Spanish, I'd suggest that you read it in said language:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12411373/1/En-tiempos-de-guerra  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia (if only...)
> 
> Before starting with the story, I think a small historical background would be nice, for those not familiar with Spanish history.  
> The Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) was caused by a militar coup the 18th of July, 1936, against the Second Republic (whose flag was similar to the one we have nowadays, but with the last band purple— so three horizontal bands, red yellow and purple; it's often called "the Tricolour"). The reason why the war started was because the coup wasn't strong enough to overthrow the government, and the government wasn't strong enough to stop the coup. So a a few days after the coup took place, Spain was fully divided in two bands: the Republicans, loyal to the republic, and the self-called Nationals, who supported the coup. The latters, who would eventually rise as the winners, had the suport of the church and the fascist party.  
> Soon after the war started, the rest of European nations, led by England, agreed not to intervene in it (they feared it would become the trigger of a second Great War). However, fascist Germany and Italy sent a lot of troops (supposedly volunteers) to help the Nationals. The Italians didn't do much (most of the republican victories were against them, actually), but the Germans used the Spanish Civil War to test their new weapons (e.g. the bombing of Gernica). Some English and French volunteers (ACTUAL volunteers) fought for the Republic, but they didn't have any big significance. The biggest support the Republic received was from Russia, and not for free: they sent ginormous amounts of gold in exchange for weapons.  
> Anyway, the treaty of no intervention, courtesy of England, was practically what doomed the Republic, since those nations that suppoerted the coup (i.e. Germany and Italy) didn't pay much attention to it, whereas those who supported the Republic did obey it. Eventually, after three years of a war that left almost 300 000 deads, the Nationals won the war and implanted a militar dictatorship led by general Francisco Franco that lasted until his death in 1975.
> 
> Huh. That's much more than what you need to understand the story. I got carried away :P I hope you ejoyed the free history lesson; let's proceed to the story!

**In Times of War**

The house had appeared almost from nowhere. Antonio hadn't seen it until he was practically next to it. Both the moon and the stars shone in the nocturne sky, and he could've seen the house before he had. Had he been in another situation, he probably would have.

Without thinking twice, Antonio kicked the door open and ran inside the house, which was clearly abandoned. He could no longer hear the voices of the men that chased him, but he decided to look for a place to hide. He couldn't be too careful when _they_ were involved.

He ran all around, desperate, fully knowing that every minute he lost could mean the difference between living or dying. There was a big wardrobe in the main bedroom, but he quickly discarded it. That'd be the first place they'd look in. There was a pile of dirty clothes in the bathroom's corner; he could hide under those. No, they'd see him without even trying.

He thought he heard voices again. Discretely, he looked out the window and, indeed, he saw the dark silhouettes of a bunch of men that ran towards the house.

Only one thought crossed his mind: _It's over_.

They were going to find him. They were going to find him and, if he was lucky, he'd be shot in the head. The other option was for him to be taken prisoner, and that terrified him more than anything else. Not knowing what to do, he ran to the living room, desperately looking for a place, anywhere, where he could hide.

 _Chimney_ , his mind said.

It was risky, but it could work. If he was strong enough, he could push himself in and avoid being seen. The suffocation hazard didn't even cross his head. He rushed to the other end of the room… and tripped before he could reach it. Cursing, he turned to see what had caused his fall, and he could barely believe his luck when he saw that one of the wooden planks was slightly risen. He jumped to its side and effortlessly disengaged it. Those around it were taken off easily, revealing a hole beneath them. Probably, the former residents used it to hide their most valuable possessions; and now Antonio was going to use it to hide all he had left: his life.

Without losing any other second, he slid in the hole and put the planks back in their place. He had barely engaged the last one when the voices of the nationals echoed in the house.

~{§}~

It seemed an eternity had passed by the time he got out. Actually, the enemies had gone a while ago, but Antonio, cautious, had decided to remain in his hideout for a little longer. How could he be sure that they had really left the place? In fact, he even considered staying in there for the rest of the night, and he may have if he hadn't started to feel extremely claustrophobic.

He carefully lifted the planks, trying not to make any noise. The house, dark and completely silent, was very eerie, although it looked like the best place in the world to Antonio. It protected him form the wind, the rain and the cold, and it had saved him from a certain death. If he could, he'd marry that building.

He managed to get out of the hole despite the complaints his muscles sent him with every move he made. After having been in there for a few hours, they were stiff, not to mention the effort the previous escape had meant.

He really needed to rest.

However, that would have to wait. There were two priorities that required his attention: one, his empty stomach; and two, his injured arm. He hadn't had time before to worry about that, but the truth was that he hadn't eaten anything since dawn; and the bullet he had taken to the arm earlier, which had been relegated to a second place, quietened by the adrenaline, was starting to hurt like hell.

He made his way to the kitchen, blindly at first until his eyes got used to the darkness. Thankfully, he found there a lantern with oil, which he managed to light after a few tries. Now that he could see, he rummaged through the cupboards, searching for something to eat. All he found was musty cheese and stale bread, but his starving stomach received it gladly.

Once he had eaten, he took the lantern and toured around the house. He had hoped to find a first-aid box, but it seemed that the luck that had been with him until then had finally left him. Resigned, he went to the pile of dirty clothes he had seen before —he didn't miss that they were more spread now, as if they had been kicked; as he didn't miss that the wardrobe door was now open— and picked the cleanest shirt he could find. He then went back to the living room and sat on the floor, where he fished his jack-knife out of his pocket and got ready to tear the garment into bandages.

However, he had barely started to cut it when the main door opened harshly and a man stumbled inside. Startled, Antonio jumped to his feet and pointed at him with his jack-knife. The newcomer flinched when he saw him, but recovered quickly and rose his rifle.

None of them moved for a few minutes. It wasn't hard to see they fought in different sides: Antonio had recognized the uniform worn in the _Corpo Truppe Volontarie_ , and the Italian surely had spotted the tricolour band in the Spaniard's wrist.

"Aren't you going to shoot me?" Antonio asked when the silence and inactivity became too much to bear.

"I'm out of ammo," the other answered in a heavily accentuated Spanish, lowering his weapon. "Are you going to stab me?"

"I don't think I have the strength to do so."

The Italian frowned, but then he saw the blood stain on the other's sleeve and understood.

"You're wounded."

"Very observant. Are you going to snatch my knife and stab me with it?"

He slowly shook his head before swallowing and pointing at his own leg. Antonio moved closer to take a better look, and what he saw made his stomach twist. Although he hadn't taken a direct hit, he had been reached by shrapnel: the Italian's left thigh had turned into a bloody mess, surely full of small pieces of metal and wood.

"That… doesn't look good," he commented.

" _That_ hurts a lot, I'll have you know," the Italian growled. He moved forward and the light from the lantern finally illuminated his face, covered in blood and mud. His hair was copper, and had incredibly big amber eyes. He was young, even more than Antonio, and even though he tried to appear confident, it was clear that he was scared. "I have—" he cleared his throat. "I have a first-aid kit with a needle and thread, but I don't have bandages."

"I do have bandages," Antonio replied, pointing with his head towards the shirt he had left on the floor. "Almost."

Their gazes met and stood fixed on each other for a few seconds. Then, both nodded slowly.

"Antonio," said the Spaniard, reaching his hand.

"Lovino," said the Italian, shaking it.

~{§}~

Lovino didn't fully trust the Spaniard, but he had no other choice. They needed each other, for now. Of course, they could kill each other and let the winner have both the bandages and first-aid kit, but both knew that, in that case, there would be little that could be done. Besides the fact that a fight would take them to the limit of their strength, Antonio couldn't stitch and bandage his arm as good as another person would; and Lovino felt dizzy every time he looked at his leg (he didn't know how he had reached the house without collapsing on the way).

"The bandages are done," Antonio informed, giving one last cut to the second shirt. He had picked another, as he didn't think one would be enough to treat both wounds, and Lovino hadn't complained. "How's your leg?"

"What does it look like?"

The Spaniard frowned, clearly annoyed by the Italian's cutting reply, but didn't say anything. Instead, he took off his shirt to reveal his wound. Although moving the arm hurt a lot, he put all his effort not to wail. Lovino watched in silence, and only spoke, hesitant, when the other folded his shirt and left it on the floor:

"Do I have to take off my trousers?"

Although at first Antonio sent him a fun look, he was instantly serious once again and moved to his side to eye the Italian's thigh.

"It's going to hurt like hell," he replied honestly, "but I think it'll be for the best."

" _Cazzo_."

"Indeed."

After some torturing minutes, Lovino, with Antonio's help —which made them both very uncomfortable—, managed to get out of his trousers. By the time they were done, his eyes were flooded with tears, and he had bit his lip so harshly it was bleeding.

"Now it looks even worse than before," Antonio muttered. "I think we'd better start with yours."

Lovino could only nod, focused on not passing out.

~{§}~

It took almost half an hour for Antonio to finish cleaning and bandaging the other's leg. As he had suspected, it was full of shrapnel, and he had put a lot of effort in taking out all the pieced of metal and wood he found. Once, he pulled out a splinter as big as his thumb. Lovino had howled in pain, and Antonio's stomach had twisted.

When he was finally over, the Italian remained lying on the floor, his breath shaken and tears sliding down his temple. Antonio decided to give him a few minutes to recover and went to wash his hands in the meantime.

His arm hurt a lot after having spent all that time healing Lovino, and it kept bleeding. Thankfully, the Italian had bandaged it —a bit clumsily— before he had started with his leg. Had he not done it, he might have fainted in the middle of the process.

He went back to the living room to find Lovino exactly as he had left him. He sat heavily by his side and handed him the needle, thread and bandages.

"Your turn."

Lovino didn't answer; in fact, he didn't even react.

"Lovino…" Antonio insisted. "Hey, Lovino… please," he muttered.

Finally, the Italian moved. He sat up, barely holding back a pained whine —Antonio had to admit he was very resistant—, and turned to face the Spaniard's injured arm. Without a word, he picked the objects and started to work.

~{§}~

Antonio's wound was much less severe than his, Lovino noticed. It was clearly the result of a bullet, although it had grazed him more than piercing through him. still, it wasn't shallow enough not to need treatment. He first cleaned it with water; then disinfected that needle, passing it over his lighter's flame, and started to sew.

He felt how Antonio tensed the moment the needle started to pierce his flesh. However, as he stitched, the Spaniard relaxed, although he kept cursing through gritted teeth from time to time.

As he took care of the injure, Lovino sent furtive glances to the face of the Spaniard, who seemed to be lost in thought. Despite seeing his profile, he couldn't help but be attracted to his eyes, which shone in the semidarkness, illuminated by the lantern. After all, they were what he had first seen when they had met. They were intensely green, and were full of life; Lovino was certain he had seen a storm in them. When he grew tired of his eyes, he studied the rest of his features.

His hair was dark brunet, wavy, and very, very messy. It framed a face that must have been delicate, before having lived a battle. Now he looked serious and firm; pursed lips, brow furrowed. Lovino couldn't help but feel pity for him. who knew what he had faced.

He finished stitching and, more as a precaution than a necessity, he bandaged it again. Antonio muttered a quiet "thank you" before retreating and picking up his shirt. He put it on again, but he didn't bother buttoning it up. Lovino remembered then that he hadn't put back his trousers, but he didn't mind. It had hurt a lot to take them off— he was not going to go through that again.

An awkward silence surrounded them. Both were thinking the same: now what? The part where they needed one another was over. What were they supposed to do now?

 _If he decides to kill me, it will be easy_ , Lovino thought, fully aware that he would barely be able to defend himself from an attack. Then again, he doubted the other would do something of the sort. He had healed his wound with such care that, honestly, he'd consider him and idiot if he tried to hurt him now.

Trying to forget his injure, and above all trying to ignore the other's presence, Lovino dragged himself to the wall, on which he leaned, panting. Barely thinking what he was doing, he reached for his jacket's pocket and took out a small tobacco box and the lighter; his hands moved by instinct, taking a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it. He took a long drag, instantly relaxing, and sighed when he expelled the smoke. Then he saw that Antonio was staring at him from the other end of the room.

"Want one?" he asked, rising the box.

Antonio hesitated for a moment before nodding and moving to his side. He sat next to him and took the cigarette he offered him.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

" _Prego_."

They smoked in silence for a while, both trying to decide what to say or do to break the building tension. Finally, it was Antonio who broke the silence with a simple comment:

"You speak Spanish very well."

Lovino sent him a long glance before replying.

" _Nonno_ taught us. My grandpa," he clarified. "To me and my brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Yes, Feliciano. He's nineteen, three years younger than me."

"I don't have any siblings. Well, I have one. More or less."

"How's that?"

"João and I are not blood related," Antonio explained. "But we were raised together in the same house, so we're practically brothers."

"I see."

Silence surrounded them once again, although this time it was much less uncomfortable. At least now they knew a little more about each other.

~{§}~

They talked about their childhoods, their brothers, their mischiefs as teens… Everything save for the war. Lovino could easily guess why the republican didn't want to talk about the conflict, and he'd rather forget the topic as well. He felt comfortable in Antonio's presence, and didn't want to remember that they were supposed to be enemies.

When they had run out of conversation topics, however, the Spaniard spoke:

"Lovino."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

He wasn't expecting what came next.

"Why are you fighting in a war that's not yours?"

He looked at him unbelieving. They had spent the whole chat trying to avoid the topic and now he brought it up just like that? He frowned, upset.

"What makes you think it's not my war?"

"It's not," he answered, firm. "It's a civil war, Lovino. In Spain. It's only concerns us Spaniards."

"Tell Hitler," he replied. "He loves testing his new toys in _your_ war."

That angered Antonio. He grabbed Lovino by the shirt's collar and pulled harshly, knocking him down against the floor, and then sat on him, straddling him. He ignored the Italian's pained yelp (it was very likely that he had hit his wound) and pulled him up until their faces were almost touching.

"I haven't asked about Hitler," he hissed. "Neither about Mussolini, nor Franco. I've asked why are _you_ in this."

Lovino didn't answer. All he did was look back at him, serious, not showing any emotion. Antonio couldn't guess what he was thinking, and that only upset him more.

"You seem to be a good person," he grunted. "So tell me why you're fighting with the fascists, favouring a coup, to destroy a democratic republic."

"It's not about that," Lovino sighed, exhausted, closing his eyes. "It's not about ideals, Antonio. As far as I'm concerned, Mussolini can go to hell."

"Then?"

The amber eyes opened again to give him a sad look.

"Feliciano wants to study art. _Nonno_ doesn't have enough money to support us both and pay for his studies. Lovino goes off to war and the family has one mouth less to feed; more money can be saved and Feli can study something he likes and is great at."

Surprised, Antonio let go of his shirt, letting Lovino lie back.

"What?"

"Feli is a wonderful artist," he sighed. "He'll get far; unlike me. He deserves a chance. And if I can give it to him, even if it's by going to fight a war that's not my own, I will," he added, determined. "Wouldn't you do the same for your brother?"

"I'd throw myself in front of a tank for João," Antonio muttered, all his rage gone. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand that you got angry."

Antonio hesitated for a moment before leaning forward until he pressed his forehead to Lovino's. He felt the tips of his fingers caressing his cheek, making a shiver go down his spine.

"I'm really sorry," he insisted. "Are you alright?"

Their gazes were fixed on each other, green facing amber, and it seemed that time stopped. Suddenly, they were aware of just how close they were: their breaths mingling, their hips pressed together, their chests so close that they could almost hear the other's heartbeat. They were aware of the glint of desire that shone in the depths of their eyes.

"I'm perfectly fine," Lovino answered.

And then he raised his head and kissed Antonio softly.

~{§}~

From then on, everything happened fast. The kisses, at first tender and kind, soon grew hungry and demanding. The hands, at first shy and still, started to explore the foreign body.

Impatient, Antonio unbuttoned Lovino's jacket and shirt, not bothering to fully take them off, and his lips loitered for a while on his neck before going down his chest. He heard the Italian sigh, felt his body trembling under his and long fingers tangling with his hair. Lovino's healthy leg wrapped around him and pushed him closer; Antonio groaned when he felt the other's erection against his abdomen.

Everything was happening too fast, and yet not fast enough.

Lovino grabbed his face and forced him to go back to his mouth. Antonio didn't complain and kissed him almost fiercely, imposing a sharp rhythm. The taste of tobacco was a hassle that didn't let the fully appreciate the kiss, yet both their heads were spinning because of its intensity.

Antonio pulled apart, panting, at the exact same time that Lovino attacked his belt, quickly unfastening it and urging him to take off his trousers. The Spaniard didn't need to be asked twice and was fast to get rid of the garment, sighing when his erection was freed. He considered taking off his shirt, but he didn't want to put more pressure on his arm… And, seeing the lustful way in which Lovino looked at all his body, he knew it wasn't necessary.

The younger, although trousers-less since a long while ago, still had his underwear on. Antonio moved to take his briefs off, but Lovino stopped him and shook his head, a small glint of fear in his eyes. Understanding that he feared hurting his leg again, the Spaniard reacted faster than what he himself would have expected: he grabbed his jack-knife, which was luckily within reach, and without thinking it twice he ripped the Italian's briefs on the injured leg's side. Lovino gasped when the cold metal grazed his skin, although it didn't cut him, and shivered when Antonio finished undressing him —from waist downwards, at least—.

They moaned when their erections met. Not giving them a moment to get used to it, Antonio began to move, rubbing their dicks together, from time to time helping with his hand. He thought he heard the Italian whispering his name in between moans, which prompted him to move faster. He couldn't stop the other's name from falling from his lips either, especially when playful hands started to roam all around his body. Not being fully aware of his actions, Antonio kissed him again; on the lips, on the cheek, on the neck, everywhere. He ended on his ear, which he licked and bit before stopping and asking with a shaky breath:

"Lovino… Do you want to go all the way through?"

The Italian whined and nodded before whispering a trembling "yes". He had barely finished speaking when two finger graced his lips, asking permission to go in. Understanding his intention, Lovino opened his mouth and let the fingers slid inside, where he started to lick them intensely. Antonio let out a curse and focused again on their cocks, playing with them with his free hand and laughing breathlessly when Lovino's whole body shuddered.

Their gazes met once again, lust clearly visible in both, and Antonio knew he couldn't hold back any longer.

He withdrew his fingers from Lovino's mouth and quickly took them to his backside, immediately sliding one inside him. The other whined, but soon started to move his hips to meet his moves. Soon, the Spaniard could add another finger, and by then he was already going mad with desire. He spent not one second longer than necessary not to hurt the Italian, and then he pulled his fingers out.

He gave him a long and intense kiss that left them both breathless before pushing inside him.

Lovino let out a long moan. Whether it was from pain or pleasure, he couldn't tell; anyway, Antonio held back and didn't mover any further.

"You okay?" he managed to say between pants.

"Y-Yes," was Lovino's shaky reply.

Although his tone didn't suggest it, Antonio was certain he meant it, even more when it was Lovino himself who started to move clumsily beneath him, urging him to do so.

And he did.

Although he started slow, it didn't take long for him to increase the speed and strength of his thrusts, in response to Lovino's whimpers that almost pleaded for more. His mind disconnected, unable to think of anything that wasn't the young Italian lying beneath him, or the waves of pleasure that climbed up his spine and made him lose control. Not really knowing how, his hand found Lovino's and held it tight, intertwining their fingers.

He couldn't tell how long it had been until the Italian's body tensed and released while he screamed his name. His own orgasm didn't take long to arrive, not after having seen Lovino's expression while he came, and soon he reached the climax too.

Exhausted, Antonio pulled away and collapsed next to Lovino, panting and with a huge smile lighting up his face.

~{§}~

Lovino took in a deep breath, trying to calm his agitated breathing. That experience had been too intense. He wiped the sweat out of his forehead with a shaky hand and turned to look at Antonio.

At first, he wasn't sure what had made his heart jump in his chest; and he felt like a complete moron when he realized.

"Antonio…" he called him softly, moving closer to him.

The Spaniard turned to look at him, and Lovino was left breathless. He had thought Antonio was attractive since he had first seen him, but now, with his eyes shining and the brightest smile in the world —even more than Feliciano's!—, Lovino thought he hadn't seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

"What is it?" Antonio whispered, softly caressing his cheek.

"You should smile more often," Lovino answered in the same tone before leaning in for a kiss.

Antonio kissed back gladly.

"I haven't had many reasons to do so lately," he muttered when they pulled apart. "Just you."

Lovino felt how he blushed madly because of those words, and Antonio laughed at that. Mad and annoyed, the Italian buried his face on Antonio's neck, who didn't miss the chance and hugged him tightly. They remained like that for a few minutes, in complete silence, simply enjoying each other's presence, until Lovino broke the silence with a devastating question:

"Now what?"

~{§}~

Antonio pulled apart a little so he could take a look at Lovino's face. That was a very good question. Now what? At the moment, he only knew one thing: he was at a crossroads.

"I have some ideals to fight for," he mumbled.

"I must admit you're worth of admiration. You're willing to die for a lost cause."

The comment first annoyed Antonio, but he had to admit that, as much as it hurt, Lovino was right.

"The Republic's lost, isn't it?" he sighed painfully.

"That's what the rest of Europe thinks," he answered. "I'm sorry."

Antonio shut up, and so did Lovino. They sank in their thoughts, and remained like that for a long time. This time, it was the Spaniard who broke the silence, though he did so with a question too:

"Lovino, would you come with me?"

"Where?" the Italian said, taken by surprise.

"Anywhere," the Spaniard replied, shrugging. "Portugal, where my brother is; France, where most of the republicans are seeking refuge; Italy, where your family is. I don't care," he concluded. "All that matters is that you're with me."

He felt Lovino shiver, and for a moment he thought he was going to reject him. but then he lifted his head and looked at him from behind those long eyelashes with those deep amber eyes, and Antonio melted.

"Portugal is closer," Lovino pointed out. "We can go there, and then decide whether to stay or go somewhere else," he smiled.

A wide grin split Antonio's face. It was going to be a tough and risky trip, but —and he was certain of this— it would be worth it. He leant and kissed Lovino, tender.

"Let's sleep, then," he whispered. "We leave at dawn."

**FIN**


End file.
